


tongue

by fishysama



Series: goretober 2019!!! [2]
Category: Junjou Romantica
Genre: Abuse, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Burns, Cigarettes, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eye Trauma, Goretober, Goretober 2019, Guro, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, M/M, Mild Gore, Moral Ambiguity, Morally Ambiguous Character, Out of Character, Pet Names, Physical Abuse, Praise Kink, Psychological Horror, Torture, fun stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-22 10:36:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishysama/pseuds/fishysama
Summary: goretober day 2: please stop!misaki gets praised for his pretty mouth.





	tongue

Misaki’s one true pleasure is doing things for Akihiko, anything that makes him happy. He loves praise, especially from the person he loves the most. Even if it’s from something trivial— making a good meal or cleaning up around the mansionette— it makes his day. His week, maybe. Of course, the bigger things make Akihiko happier, which makes Misaki even happier, which makes Misaki even more willing to go through with  _ anything  _ Akihiko wants. Being particularly compliant in bed, for example, would award him with many gifts of words. Misaki can hear them echoing in his head, each syllable warming his heart: “You did such an amazing job, love,” “I’m so proud of you,” and, best of all—

“You’re such a good boy, Misaki. Let me see your tongue.”

At first, Misaki hesitates, his face glowing red. “T-Tongue?” He was already in quite an embarrassing, demeaning position: hands loosely tied behind his back, sitting on his feet, his head resting on Akihiko’s bare thigh. He feels small.

“You don’t want to let me see?” Akihiko questions, blowing smoke straight before him. He smiles, pets Misaki’s hair. “Let me see, sweetheart.” His hand slides down Misaki’s jaw, thumb settling at the base of the joint. He rubs it in a circular motion. His pinky prods Misaki’s lip.

Timidly, Misaki lifts his head, opening his mouth just a peek. He flicks out his tongue— pink and cream— out for only a moment before bringing it back it.

Akihiko chuckles, brushing his lips gently. “You didn’t swallow all of it, baby.”

“...Sorry.” Misaki gets very quiet when he’s embarrassed,  _ truly  _ embarrassed. He hides his words as if that changes the truth of the matter. It doesn’t work very well.

“It’s okay, Misaki. You did such a good job,” Akihiko cooes, petting and smoking. He sneaks his pinky past the corner of Misaki’s lips, nudging the tongue.

Misaki dips his head, a bit ashamed. Though his common sense was lost in the fog of the moment, a distant voice still asks him:  _ What are you doing? _

An abrupt motion: Misaki’s head is jutted back up; antithesis. “Don’t hide your face, baby. I want to see you.”

“You’re so pretty. So lovely, my Misaki.”

Akihiko stares at him for a long while, Misaki desperately avoids eye contact for just as long. But, it can’t be evaded forever. Misaki looks up—

“I need to put out my cigarette. Do you mind?”

Misaki tilts his head, confused. Well, at least he tries to. The grip at the base of his head is too strong. He swallows and the rest of  _ it  _ is gone.

“Usagi-san, let go.”

“I don’t want to.”

His head is pushed up, even farther. His neck is stretched, bruises accentuated. Misaki’s lip trembles.

“Why are you afraid of me, Misaki? You know I love you.”

Misaki feels pink. “Yes.”

The cigarette comes suddenly: a dodgeball spiraling towards your head when you’re least prepared. Misaki doesn’t see much after that. He feels red. He feels ember.

First, blistering, bubbling, bursting. And then, Misaki panics.

Akihiko’s wilted, incredibly endearing smile fills his remaining vision, the wrist slowly turning, back and forth, burning. “You look so beautiful, Misaki. But you look even  _ more  _ beautiful when you cry. Did you know that?”

Misaki doubts he looks beautiful then: one eye burned out and the other one raw with tears. His nose drips steadily. He struggles with words, words, words. “Usagi— ‘Sagi-san…” he drags out the ‘n’ and its pitch drops, the failing speaker of a child’s toy, “It hurts… Please stop it.” He squints and feels fire. Yelping, pulling at his restraints, “Please stop!!” 

Misaki still has warmth in his heart, though, sweet words echoing.  _ You look so beautiful, Misaki. _ Despite tears and snot and horrific pain and the lifelong results of such a horrific,  _ horrific _ pain, he wears his widest smile. Light-headed. The worst pain imaginable had been dulled with some artificial, softening words. Words like a sculptor.

Akihiko removes the cigarette seconds after the plea, satisfied. He smiles so genuinely, so truthfully. “You’re amazing, Misaki. I love you so much.” And then, a small drop of empathy, a sprinkle of guilt. “...Are you hurt? I’m sorry for hurting you, baby. You know I never mean to hurt you, right?”

Misaki’s head drops suddenly. He gags to no avail. But, he doesn’t wait for the spasming to stop for a response. Coughing, near vomiting: “I— I do!! I… know— I know you do— n’t mean…”

He rises from his seat, reconfiguring his trousers. “I’m gonna go get the first aid kit, okay, love? I’ll be back in a second.”

He feels liquid drip down his blinded cheek and prays for it to be tears. Destroyed, he feels beautiful.  _ So pretty. _

“I love you, Misaki,” the lover says, walking away, “I love your tongue.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://juroguro.tumblr.com/)


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